


Alerted

by Demytasse



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Bickering, Comfort, Developing Relationship, Drabble, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Established Relationship, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hugs, Implied/Referenced Sex, Insecurity, Intimacy, Light-Hearted, M/M, Memories, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Oneshot, Romantic Gestures, Sentimental, Shizaya - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-04 22:30:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16355465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demytasse/pseuds/Demytasse
Summary: Shizuo always hated incessant and agitating cellphone alerts, that is until he had reason to look forward to them.---The situation lacked explanation, yet it had explanation because of what it lacked — a conundrum that explained every inconvenience in his adolescent life onward.A simple pattern, really…If it pestered him enough, it was a specific pest; if it bugged him too much, it was a single bug. While it seemed too predictable, the theory always proved correct as the culprit always wound up being Izaya — the one and only, a flea through and through.





	Alerted

**Author's Note:**

> I have really abstract ideas that turn into long prose, don't mind me. lololol

Shizuo wasn't one to hate something without a reason.

Though the idea read as a joke to those familiar with his...unique lack of reasoning, it was definitely a true statement. There was a rhyme to his hate therefore it had reason, it tred a straightforward path so it had logic.

 _A simple equation, really…  
_ Shizuo + annoyance = hate

Emotional, irrational, but fairly logical.

In this particular scenario the equation was applied to his view of cellphones. It wasn’t as though Shizuo hated _cellphones_ , per se. No, they had a purpose, were handy in a pinch, and were necessary to get by in his generation.

What he specifically hated, _despised_ _,_ were cellphone _alerts_.

They were a constant call for attention, a gnat in his ear that wouldn’t stop its incessant buzzing. It didn't matter if it rang, sang, beeped, bleeped, or pulsed they itched that part of his brain that he couldn't reach and it damn well pissed him off.

Reliably they were a racket that wracked his eardrums and kept him unrested; a percussion that played at his hip that kept his mood shitty, as though pathetic pleas of indebtees weren’t enough. Racked-up and frequent instances of stimulus overload led to countless phone sacrifices, and logically speaking the constant stream that kept Shizuo keyed up made zero sense.

How was it even possible for that many callers to know his number? Had his information been sold to spam artists or was he signed up for hordes of sweepstakes agencies without his knowing? Perhaps anonymous Dollars enacted revenge upon him with indirect crowdsourcing.

The situation lacked explanation, yet it had explanation _because_ of what it lacked — a conundrum that explained every inconvenience in his adolescent life onward.

_A simple pattern, really…_

If it pestered him enough, it was a specific pest; if it bugged him too much, it was a single bug. While it seemed too predictable, the theory always proved correct as the culprit always wound up being Izaya — the one and only, a flea through and through.

However, Shizuo’s logic added a curious twist. If the informant was the cause of his annoyance, not the annoyance himself, did that mean Izaya wasn’t the target of his hate, or was that a just a technicality?

Much like the cellphone he didn't specifically hate, Izaya wasn't _the_ thing he hated and the loophole had him at least mildly perturbed, because it opened up the potential for more aspects of his rival to be dropped of ill-emotion.

And at that, the aforementioned cellphone alerts were steered from a path of nuisance and onto the potential of something else.

* * *

     “Look at this ratty old thing,” a yellow hunk of plastic dangled beside a distinct look of disgust, “it's barely holding onto its hinges, Shizu-chan.”

     “It still works.”

He was blunt. Seemingly prudent

     “I can buy you a new one.”

     “Tch. I don't need your charity.”

Unabashedly, he flaunted his natural inclination to decline help.

     “It’s not charity if I have a few older phones lying around. You can have one of those, they need a purpose.”

     “I said no, Izaya.”

Stubborn and brash, the beast snatched the cell from the baffled informant. An unhealthy clack sounded when it was folded closed, to which he hissed out pain in lieu of his phone that couldn't express its own agony.

     “Hmm.”

Izaya took in the ways to which Shizuo examined the surface with a three-sixty twist and turn of his property, like it was even possible for any harm to come from simply holding it.

     “Your brother probably gave it to you given the amount of importance you hold for it.” He bristled.

     “Yeah.” The paranoid blond nodded with a cursory glance at Izaya who wore a frown. “That's not why, though.”

Relieved by the lack of new damage, he slipped his phone back into a secure vest pocket.

     “Right. Much like Namie-san’s incestuous obsession, your love might be of the same. You know, instead of dedicating your love to me with your full beastly potential.”

A surge of displeasure had Shizuo snap his attention and narrow his eyes in warning.

Izaya sneered with a sliver of his courage before he relaxed, an arched-back cat that only meant to prove his quick reflexes that could take whatever aggression was thrown.

     “Don’t go for the low blow ‘cause you can’t trust me, flea.”

     “I trust you more than I should, brute.” Izaya half-assed his shrug, “consider my perspective, hm? I’ve had years of experiencing how far you will go for your brother and loved ones during the time we... Well, let’s call it a past insecurity.”

Gazing into his thoughts he corrected his comfort, his arms wrapped around a propped knee, heavy support of his weariness.

Empathy willed Shizuo’s defensive heartbeat to slow; he slid closer to Izaya with a good inch between them.

     “Trust me. I care for you both, just in different ways.”

     Izaya puffed a laugh, “It’s reassuring to hear that you don’t have a thing for your little brother. Thank you.”

     “Tch, that’s what you take from that…” he muttered, though massaged a circle on his frigid back.

The duo took a moment to correct their feud, Izaya slipped his eyes closed while drawn into the warmth at his side.

     “Care to tell me _why_ that crappy phone means so much to you, then?”

     “No.”

Izaya rolled his eyes, but Shizuo threw it right back.

* * *

Why Kasuka’s gifted phone remained intact, unlike its predecessors, was fairly simple and sentimental in an elementary school way. Shizuo's beloved sibling may not have been the root cause, but was tangentially related, as the safeguard of his aging phone was connected to someone he cared deeply for.

And the reason predated the dynamic duo even dating, but came shortly after a resolution of their rage of war and lay somewhere in the lull before their lines finally connected.

 

_*bzzt, bzzt*_

Shizuo added a kink to his second cigarette stick with a mad twitch.

     “If the alerts are so annoying just set unknown numbers to have different tones than your contacts.”

     * _bzzt*_

     “I can't.” He grumbled when a stray bleep of six prior made him jump.

     “Why not?”

     “I don't know how.”

Izaya reached down from his cement perch next to Shizuo who casually leaned against the same. When he didn’t notice, he kicked at the bodyguard's arm with intensity that would only be considered _light_ for him.

     “Give it here.”

     “Hah?” smoke rolled out of his mouth.

     An empty hand bobbed, “your phone, dipshit. Give it.”

Shizuo grumbled. His half finished cigarette was left between his lips while he tilted to better reach his hip pocket, the dig was too complicated without a fumble; already of mild agitation the retrieval only made it worse.

Once removed, he carelessly tossed the plastic to the side, blindly from his own view, but a blurred canary for Izaya as it arched out of his range — not even remotely close to him.

     “...clearly you care a lot for technology.”

     “Yeah, yeah.” Shizuo sighed as he eased the legs of his slacks to bend down. Once he turned back around, he chuckled at the deadpan dismay Izaya gave him before he dropped the cell in the awaiting hand.

     “Thanks.”

Though he tried not to, a smile wiggled into place. The natural happenstance was funnier on its own than one he could’ve brewed.

Switched of usual roles, Shizuo observed the techie immediately draw inward to diligently work; he tested the flip screen on its hinge, muttered a ' _clumsy_ _beast_ ’ beneath his breath, then began to familiarize himself with the simple OS.

Izaya tapped through menus while Shizuo went back to an even pace of his routine smoke right on up to the self-extinguish of his cigarette butt.

As if purposely timed, a hand splayed across his shoulder with a squeeze to alert him.

     “Here,” Izaya specifically placed the phone flat on Shizuo's palm in kind respect.

     “I set it so that unknown calls are silent and your contacts have ringtones. If you want to completely silence it just hit the side button to turn it off and it’ll vibrate,” he demonstrated how each beep lessened in volume. Izaya stopped before a final hit.

     “Oh...thanks.” Shizuo was dumbfounded by the depth to which Izaya had helped him out, especially since the initial hindrance of his sanity was at the pest's hand.

     “Honestly, you should’ve learned how to use your own phone,” he lilted.

     “I never kept them long enough. Broke them all.” Shizuo futzed with the minimal features he was now aware.

     “Well let's try to keep this one intact, hm?” He clapped Shizuo's shoulder before he leaned back. Syrupy condescension coloured his words, yet his smirk sparkled.

     “Don't sass me. I get it.”

Izaya hid a hissed laugh behind his hand before he laid it back in comfort of the one he teased. They both took to a casual observance of the scene before them.

Side by side, they let twilight roll over the bustling city life. They breathed in the murmur and sighed out silence, anything abhorrent seemed muted. The only tone was the calm nature of their company. The only vibrations were beats that Izaya’s fingers dialed on Shizuo's shoulder in time with his hum. Though he didn't know the song, he found notes that complimented it as if they came to him naturally. And they had.

Somehow, Shizuo felt like the informant's contact was becoming one of his favourites.

 

A half dozen of peaceful hours passed without notice. Shizuo had just pulled the covers to his neck while situated perfectly in bed, his lamp already clicked off. Unsuspected of any sleep deterrents, he was jolted by the new phone settings being put on a trial run.

A chirp.

It was bright, simple, but most importantly pleasant to his ears — the cut of his peace was of no mind, oddly enough. He gathered his phone easily, his motor skills not yet drowsy, unsure of who would’ve messaged him at that hour.

A flip-click and the screen was upright. The darkness wrapped around the glowing personality of a self-taken photo — a wink, protruded blip of a tongue, and a sassy victory pose filled the room with energy.

     “That bastard changed my background.” His words failed agitation.

Blood pulsed in his ears with heavy bass as he studied the photo, the details derailed any fatigue from pulling him into a slumber.

Long ago he would have been annoyed, but now he was more in awe. Shizuo was enamored of the dumb picture and fell in favour of the effect it had on him. Every interaction they had in recent slowly built into something natural, which the text preview that scrolled though its marquee seemed to represent that feeling.

_//★ Ya-ho, Shizu-chan~! I made sure to pick different ringtones for each of your favourite contacts so you could easily tell them apart. Naturally, I reserved the best one for me~★//_

Unbeknownst to him nor a single soul, Shizuo reflected the beam of Izaya's livelihood, and let the text play through its reel until the screensaver dimmed the image; once more it spelled out the message before the darkness reclaimed the space.

Days went by and weeks followed, while a slow stream of novel tones drew Shizuo's curiousity to his phone. One by one he'd connect his contacts to a particular ringtone — all specifically picked, agreeable, and a shockingly good match to their personality, though he couldn’t explain why. Intentionally planned or not, the association game Izaya put him through only confirmed what he’d already determined, that none of the beeps and rings sounded quite as sweet as the occasional chirp that sang for him.

Each diddy added to his well of appreciation for the pesky alerts, ones that increased in number, the same that transformed his cellphone into an eccentric songbird that rapidly fired disjointed tunes. Now they acted an early wake up call, a midday salute, an afternoon greeting, and a midnight endcap.

The texts ranged from simple one-liners to anecdotes. Anything from _'haha’s_ , _‘huehue’s_ and _'lol’s_ , aberrant ponders to half-hearted insults, and a liberal amount of gifs that the pest knew his phone was too ancient to play.

Every chirp had him trained like a Pavlovian dog, every message had him gaze upon the picture of whom he grew to associate the pleasant melody to. After every response he closed the text app, a needless step as it would open again in brief — he did so repeatedly to feed upon his first glance emotions of the delightful selfie. Emotions he hadn’t known were in wait for so long.

The rivals harmonized, often distanced from one another yet inexplicably close; but never in reverse.

Only did the message rate decrease in transition — when texts turned to spoken word, as words grew silent and rolled over to lip service, and silence allowed for communicative body language. It was flawless conversation, as if their vibrant performances ever needed dialogue to convey their thoughts, and if it was ever spelled out, the type was hardly a font of blatancy, but underlined sentiment only highlighted so as to not be missed.

* * *

      “Is this why you don't want a new phone, idiot?”

Izaya emphatically referred to an open phone clamped between his thumb and middle finger; his opposite clutched his morning brew that threatened the brim with jutted motion. The screen dangled looser than the time prior, now almost separate from the keypad and a few swings away from the lit picture losing its power source.

Shizuo yawned a blur into his vision, but viewed the familiar wallpaper with the clarity of his memory.

     “Oh…” he shoveled cereal between his smile, a full mouth paid no mind. “I guess.”

     “Really.” Stoic, dark circles mocked the bright perk of Izaya's past selfie.

     “I like your ringtone too.”

Izaya weighted truth against Shizuo, an obnoxious crunch of vibrantly dyed corn puffs made the somewhat serious accusation more appropriately comical.

     “My ringer can be made unique on a new phone, Shizu-chan. It’s not exclusive to this particular model.” With a swoop he flipped it closed as he took a seat sideways at the dining table adjacent to his smug partner.

     “I know.”

     “Then why don't you.”

     “This one's important,” eyes wandered to the phone.

     “We’ve established this,” he jabbed the cover, “but _why_?”

     “‘Cause.”

     “You see normally I would believe your simpleton ' _cause_ ’ as legitimate, but this is an awfully specific type of stubbornness. You have a reason.” He forced his inquisitive stare onto Shizuo, “ _how_ is it important?”

Proud of the ruffle he put in Izaya's feathers, Shizuo leaned his chair into a bipedal balance, a stretch of his arms behind him to roll a series of cracks up his spine.

     “You really want to know, hm?”

     “Would I be so petulant if I didn't?”

     “Yes.” Shizuo tacked his finger onto Izaya’s forehead.

     “You’re hilarious,” he swatted the hand away.

     “Glad you get it.”

     “Shizuo dearest, let's not play this game.”

Izaya spoke through a manic grimace, bothered a hair too much that he didn't know something that his other half did — Shizuo knew, yet kept his accomplished grin prominent.

Though the more he watched Izaya writhe in tense anticipation and how harmfully anxious it was, he let up the brag.

     Gently he spoke, “Fine. I’ll clarify.”

Caffeinated nerves affected Izaya’s woven hands that adhered his mug, his non-dominant was plucked from its top layer rest and into Shizuo’s steady hold. Fingertips were gingerly kissed before eased open, his palm turned upward.

Perplexed, Izaya dipped his browline, fascinated by the specific actions Shizuo went through; though he didn’t understand the purpose of the placed phone in his hand and how it defined an answer.

     “I told you…” Shizuo closed fingers over the plastic, “ _I don't know how_.”

A raucous shove prepared his upheaval, the chair remained crooked as he walked around to leave.

     “And how exactly is that clarification?” Izaya looked up to double his method of question.

Just in time, his head was pressed down to rustle his hair, then was left to comb out the mess as Shizuo began to exit.

     “You're smart, flea. Figure it out.”

Izaya’s scoff had impressive volume as it managed to be heard the from a room away. All the while Shizuo let his mind take an introverted trip.

The past echoed within his stray present thoughts.

_If the alerts are so annoying just set your contacts and unknown numbers to have different tones.  
       ..._

_I don't know how.  
       ...       _

_Let's try to keep this one intact, hm?_

Frequented memories spun his mind with a romanticized twist. It was probable that his intelligent partner overwrote the memory in his database with constant updates — if he archived it Shizuo doubted it held the explicit detail that he had.

So with another replay he hoped it would be sent to Izaya in a psychic message, though wondered if the connection would be missed. If couple’s telekinesis actually existed would he even care?

He shrugged out of his t-shirt just as an unfitting beastly groan erupted from the room behind him, emphasized possibly, unintentionally candid probably.

     “You sentimental sap!” Izaya announced with humour.

     “Just for that I’m replacing this trash with a new phone. Deal with it, Shizu-chan!”

Maybe it was finally okay to let Izaya replace it.

Months and years onward, there were still moments when cellphone alerts would drive Shizuo absolutely batty.

No longer was it the sound that put him in a tizzy. It was more the message behind the messages or the reason they arrived in a barrage of paragraphs unnecessarily separated into sentences.

Always inconsequential and technobabble in a different sense, the content was hardly paid any attention after a certain length of time — once more they nagged at that specific part of his mind.

It was when Shizuo was apart from Izaya, specifically en route home, that the alerts were hated, _despised_.

As he continued his transit from the subway to a mad sprint down the avenue, the pulse in his hand was met with no annoyance, the onslaught merely bothered his patience.

Shizuo recognized the rapid succession as a playful trial of his anger, that Izaya intentionally tried to piss him off when it wouldn’t affect his job performance, and to some extent it worked; though the trickster believed it a mere prank, Shizuo wasn't fooled.

An anxious slam caused the front door to take the brunt of his haste, thrown shoes added a blemish to the wall among a tally represented in tens.

A shuffle step away stood his brat who met him at the entrance with a devious mask hardly kept in place. He made first contact with another sent text. Something useless, no doubt.

Shizuo shook his head as he yanked Izaya into his embrace, a hollow thump replaced stray alerts — his yellow eyesore dangled in his hand below his twisted arms.

     “Hello to you too,” he chirped.

     “Shut up, flea.”

     “Is my simple greeting worth such a vulgar demand?” he grabbed tight at vest fabric and gave his weight to Shizuo.

     “You know what I fuckin’ mean.”

Among silky locks, his nestled kiss inspired a pleasant hum from Izaya that vibrated against his chest. Seemingly it was a dual effort to both respond and to fill the lonesome silence. Responses the informant could muster were anything but strong — built walls knocked down by Shizuo’s brute comfort.

Pesky as the were, the alerts were no longer a call of his anger, they had transformed into his call home.

**Author's Note:**

> I always make Shizuo out to be super sentimental. Geebus. 
> 
> ♡As always, thank you for the read. Comments, feedback, and kudos are always loved and appreciated!♡


End file.
